


The Most Honest Thing

by tolstayas



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: F/F, quoting monique wittig in the notes of this is really peak lesbian culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-10 16:51:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13505727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tolstayas/pseuds/tolstayas
Summary: There isn't much light in Hadestown. All the fires have long gone dark, and the lightbulbs dim and flicker. So we do what we can to keep every spark alive. And sometimes, things turn out better than we'd ever dare to hope.





	The Most Honest Thing

**Author's Note:**

> _Tu obtiens de m/e ramener jusqu’à la lumière des vivantes à condition de ne pas te retourner sur m/oi pour me regarder. La déambulation le long des souterrains est interminable... j/e vois tes cheveux qui atteignent tes épaules dont la couleur châtaigne m//est si belle à regarder qu’une douleur m/e vient dans m/a poitrine. Pas une fois tu te retournes..._
> 
> \- Monique Wittig, _Le Corps lesbien_

After it happens Eurydice lies all winter amidst the bricks and the dirt and looks straight ahead of her, and seems not to notice the shouts and the rumbling of the underground.

 

The women of the town, dust-drenched, knees shining and red from kneeling to wash and mend, have taken to throwing silver coins to her, hoping for a song they might sing to their husbands. A favour from the broken songbird. Eurydice does not look up.

 

Sometimes a silhouette passes by.

 

Eurydice pretends she is not looking, pretends she is blind and deaf and senseless with grief. But there is an odd sort of a glow whenever this figure goes by, so different from every other coal-smeared, dusty spectre that haunts this town. And Eurydice cannot help but look - her eyes drawn across shining shoulder blades and smooth calves to the small of a back, the swinging of arms and hair, the swishing of her dress, barely audible harmonies.

 

And Persephone looks back at her, sometimes.

 

Persephone has barely met Eurydice but she knows her well, knows this look, knows her disheveled hair and torn clothes and blank eyes. She knows the look of the lost, the look of all those who left their compass up above, thinking - hoping - that they wouldn't need to use it just yet. Persephone knows the anguish of the woman lost, knows her guilt and her horror, knows that she wants only to be hungry and feel her hunger like a fire in the pit of her, wants only to suffer and feel the grip of her grief in her chest, and think of a man. She knows Eurydice has cried herself empty of tears, and is waiting.

 

So Persephone lets her be, at first. Worries a little, in a strange, friendly way. And as she passes, on her way, by where the woman lies, she can't help but slow her steps a little, look over at the figure soft-edged, wasting away in the dirt, and feel a sharp pang in her chest. But there is nothing she can do, really, so she swings her head, and lets her hair fall over her shoulder, and walks away.

 

This every day, a little pang, a little tug, so that, after a few weeks or a few months - it's hard to keep time where the sun never rises - when Spring cannot be held back any longer - Persephone knows, in the way that one knows these things, that she has to save her.

 

That night she slips out unnoticed, torch in hand, tiptoes out into the dark and kneels beside her. She plants her torch in the dust.

 

"Eurydice," she whispers. The sound of it strangely familiar on her lips, a name whispered so many times in passing, with pity, with tenderness.

 

Silence. Persephone wishes she had brought something sweet with her, something to offer. Then she remembers, and, slipping her hand into her pocket, brings out some scrap of something, barely visible in the hollow of her palm, formless in the dark.

 

"Eurydice, look at this."

 

And in her palm the thing stirs at the sound of her voice, buzzes, flickers, then drifts, glowing, into the air. A firefly. The light shimmers on the faces of the coins in the dirt.

 

Still no response, but Persephone thinks she sees the shadow of a smile. "Isn't it pretty?"

 

And there is a word, a soft breath in the air, barely there at all, murmured and bare, but Persephone hears it:

 

"Yes."

 

The firefly lands on Eurydice's hand.

 

Now there is a smile there, unmistakable; Eurydice is smiling. She still looks dazed, her cheeks still smeared with dust, her hair still tangled, but she is smiling, and her eyes aren't so far off anymore, watching the firefly, watching it pulse and glow.

 

They are silent for a second, two, three... time drawn out, a moment stretched thin... until the firefly flies off, and they are alone again.

 

 "Thank you." Eurydice's voice is hoarse.

 

"Don't mention it." Persephone takes Eurydice's hand, offers her own warmth as a condolence. "I know what you're feeling. I've seen it before. I wish I didn't have to see it again, but I suppose that's beyond me."

 

"I know... what you did for Orpheus. You are very kind. But some things cannot be."

 

Persephone nods, solemnly. "Your husband is a brave man. A beautiful man. They say he charms the birds out of the trees. They say the branches creak low and sunflowers bend to listen. They say the streams and brooks break from their beds to follow him. Tell me, is it true?"

 

Eurydice nods, proud.

 

"Did he sing to you, up above? Did he melt your heart? How many times have you heard him sing?"

 

"Every night," she says.

 

"Does he ever sing the same song twice?"

 

"Never," she says.

 

"They say he charmed even Hekate. Is it true?"

 

"Yes," she says.

 

"Has he ever been unfaithful?" Asked bluntly.

 

Eurydice flinches. A catch in the breath, a look of surprise. "No."

 

"Do you love him?"

 

"Of course."

 

Persephone is quiet for a moment. She seems to think about it all very carefully, chewing over every syllable like a bead of pomegranate, ruby-red, sweet and sour. Eurydice's clothes are tattered but she looks jewelled, somehow, eyes shining.

 

"And Hades?" The question bursting out, as if Eurydice had only been containing it for so long.

 

"What?"

 

"Your husband. Do you love him?" Eurydice's voice is weak, straining to be heard; but the question is brash and stinging, striking harshly.

 

Persephone falters, hesitates. She lets go of the woman's hand, a pained look on her face, and casts her eyes down.

 

"I... I can't say." A sigh. A silence. "I never wanted to marry. I never wanted a husband. I always thought, you know... because of my mother, and who she was, and how she was... that it would all just pass me by. Hadestown was the last place I wanted to be. I wasn't ready to sell myself off. I wasn't spent yet. And, oh, my poor mother, how she mourned! And I did too, I couldn't sleep, barely ate. I was just like you, you know. Miserable."

 

She takes a breath, her voice barely a whisper, faint and uncertain.

 

"I didn't marry him for love; and they say love can be learned, but learning takes time, and we're always too busy down here to spare any time for each other... And we are so different. And he knows I can't live in Hadestown, really. But it helps when you've got a lover up high. Since I'm his wife, he lets things slip. Since he loves me, he lets me turn the old train around every once in a while, go back up, just so I can feel the sun on my back. So I suppose I forgive him."

 

"But you don't love him." Eurydice's eyes scalding, boiling with the fumes of guilt and fury, the rage of the woman lost.

 

Persephone's voice cracks, hurt. "If I forgive him, isn't that enough? Isn't it a kind of love? Do you - do you forgive Orpheus?"

 

Stunned, lip trembling. Fire and ache. The two of them face to face, staring into foreign eyes, looking for a reflection of themselves somewhere in the flickering torchlight, some sort of truth. The urge to scream, to howl, to roar, rend bone and tear flesh, hurl fire and stone, spit and seethe - but silence, as if held in place. No movement. A sudden fear, in all this darkness. Turmoil. The raging burning simmering of fresh wounds opened. Persephone speaks first.

 

"I'm sorry," whispers Persephone. "I shouldn't have."

 

Eurydice nods. An empty moment, drawn out, neither knowing what to say. Becoming unbearable. So Persephone reaches out, uncalculated, honest, on impulse. Cupping a dust-smeared face, her fingers hot against Eurydice's hollow cheek. Eurydice flinches but doesn't pull away, surprised and bewildered but not repulsed, not afraid, only surprised, and for a moment the two of them are perfectly still.

 

Only a moment. Eurydice thinking that it is so soft, that her eyes and her hair and her hand are so soft and not wanting to take anything, only there; and Orpheus was always so hungry, it had always been so hungry, whenever he touched her...

 

And Persephone thinking that she had never been so honest in this awful town, that she had never dared be so raw and so open but that now, after all that they had said and done in the - what - mere minutes she had been crouched here in the dust, what did she have to lose? And Hades was always so calculating, and his touch was so controlling she wondered if he loved her at all or only the thrill of possession, but this - this must be the most honest thing in all Hadestown.

 

They break away, there is nothing more, only fingers alighting on a dusty cheek, gentle gesture of comfort.

 

"You are very beautiful," whispers Persephone.

 

Eurydice can only lower her eyes, tongue-tied, but Persephone understands.

 

They look down, look away, look anywhere but at each other, not sure where to go from here. This time, Eurydice breaks the silence.

 

"Why did you come here?" she asks.

 

A pause. "I am the Queen of the Underground," says Persephone.

 

Eurydice nods. "I know."

 

"Mistress of the House, Lady of the Dead, the pure, the honey-sweet. The Bringer of Fruit, the Daughter of Spring. That's what they call me."

 

"I know."

 

"I know this place better than pretty much anyone. I've been here fifteen years short of forever. I've been down the track and back again more times than you can count. I can find my way around here with my eyes closed. I'll bet I can get you anything you want."

 

Eurydice shakes her head sadly. "You know what I wanted. You know the story."

 

Persephone takes a deep breath.

 

"Look, can I tell you something?"

 

Eurydice nods.

 

"Sometimes I think Hades is so terrible a King that he is barely a man. Sometimes, even I can't tell what is the truth and what is a lie - and I'm not all too certain he knows the difference." She sighs. "All this to say: Hades told you there was one way out of this coal pit. There are two."

 

Eurydice's eyebrows crinkle. "What do you mean?"

 

"It's like I told you. I'm the exception, here in Hadestown. I go upstairs whenever it suits me to. It's coming on Springtime up on top, and that means - I'm going home. And I was thinking... now, usually I'd just bring back a souvenir, but hell, I thought, you're something special, aren't you?" A smile, now. "You know, I always thought I could use a chaperone." A laugh, even. "Wanna join me? I'm going as soon as I can."

 

"Where?" Eurydice incredulous, eyes wide.

 

"Up! Into the sun! The brooks are babbling, the grass is growing! Sure, we'll have to come back down again when the leaves turn brown, but you and I know better than anyone that you take what you can get... I can even get you some flowers, to take to Orpheus."

 

Eurydice, speechless, holds a trembling hand to her chest. "Are you sure? Is it true?"

 

"Would I lie to you? I just figured the two of us lonely lovebirds might as well stick together."

 

"How - how can I thank you? What can I do?"

 

"Aw, don't mention it. Come on." Persephone stands, takes Eurydice by the hand to help her up.

 

Eurydice tries to stand but has been sitting for so long that her legs are unsteady, and topple under her; and she crumbles, taking Persephone down with her.

 

They land one on top of the other in the dust, coins flying, laughing and coughing, tangled and struggling and yelling and they might wake the whole town up at this rate but neither of them can bring themselves to stop. They are still laughing as they sit up, disentangle and rearrange. Persephone moves to stand.

 

But - "Wait." Eurydice says it and Persephone stops, sits back down, curiosity curling her lips into a smile. Eurydice hesitates, looks away, giggles awkwardly - and inches forward, and kisses Persephone full on the lips.

 

They embrace for a long time, too long, not nearly long enough - and Persephone knows that there will never be anything like this again, not anywhere.

 

They walk together to the limits of the town.

 

It is dark in Hadestown, soot-black is the earth and soot-black is the air, and soot-black are Hades' five rivers of stone; but now Spring is coming and the rivers almost start to sparkle in the sunlight that almost streams through the soot-black roof, and all around them as they walk the rivers Styx and Phlegethon and Lethe and Eriadnos and Cocytus and Acheron, looming high above them seem to sing a sacred song, a song that Persephone remembers from long ago, that she thought she'd never hear again.

 

And Eurydice follows Persephone, Persephone with her soft hair and the bright light of her torch and the swing of her body and arms and legs and shoulders and heels and nape of neck and curve of back and breasts and cheeks as she turns further and further into the familiar labyrinth. It all seems so perfect that Eurydice feels a dull ache in her chest, the ache of how good it can be, of how beautiful.

 

She imagines that body in the sunlight, golden calves and collarbones, what they might do. Hands. Lips. She bites her lip - hope, desire, anticipation. Something else, too, perhaps. Curiosity.

 

And Persephone hears the song of the rivers and knows Eurydice is following her and does not turn back. The song is the wind in the willows, the rain on pine needles crushed underfoot, the trickle of a stream. She doesn't listen for footsteps, doesn't need to, all her trust given away, as honest as she has ever been. She does not know what awaits them up above, love or death or whatever else; whether she'll find Spring in flower or in torrents; but she does not hesitate. She does not know if she will ever hear this song again; but she does not stop to hear it better.

 

Still, she hopes she will hear it again, hopes she will hear it many, many times - and it feels strange to hope, feels strange not to know what comes next, when all of her life has been a circle for as long as she knows.

 

And some part of her thinks - hopes - wants to ask - would Eurydice remember? Would she sing this song to her, song of their first Spring, song of the beginning? In the interminable nights of winter, just two lonely lovebirds in Hadestown? Would she make it all a little brighter?

 

Persephone hopes.

**Author's Note:**

> you can follow me on my musical theatre blog [@jewishpierre](https://jewishpierre.tumblr.com/) for bad edits and yelling abt how pretty hadestown is


End file.
